Hearts
by Empress Empoleon
Summary: He carried their hearts with him to his grave. / Ron, Hermione, and coping after Harry's death.


_And your heart_  
_Is gonna tear mine away._  
_-A Wish, Gregory And The Hawk._

* * *

Her grip on your hand is getting insufferably tight.

"Hermione!" You jerk your hand away, but she latches on again, her eyes not tearing away from the entrance to the maze. You sigh, before looking in the same direction.

It has been over three hours now, without any sparks or contact from the champions. The crowd is beginning to get restless, as are the judges. The only one who appears to be perfectly calm right now is Dumbledore, who paces as if he is wondering what he should eat for desert.

And then the rain begins to pour.

* * *

It comes without warning. A flash of lightning bursts in the sky, and a zap appears in front of them. The flash is momentarily blinding.

The thunder cracks and all you can see is Harry Potter's corpse, bloody and twisted. The Portkey Triwizard Cup rolls away from him and settles in the grass a little away.

The message is clear.

Voldemort has returned.

* * *

You can't think anymore. Blood is rushing through your veins, your muscles throbbing. A sweeping, icy sensation passes through you. There's this dull ache in your chest, around your heart. Someone's screaming - maybe it's you - it sounds soft in your ringing ears. Your hand is clenching, another hand around it.

The silence has never been so loud.

* * *

It's all in flashes after that. You can't remember it all too well.

Suddenly you're in front, Hermione right next to you. You're fighting with the judges and the professors, shouting and crying because _hell, you're his fucking best mates _and because Harry fucking _promised _them he wouldn't go and kill himself-

"You can't do this!" you roar, and Hermione has forgotten all about the rules now as she almost pounces on McGonagall. "Get out of the way!"

The tears are track marks on your skin.

* * *

There's a red flash and a thump next to you before everything goes black.

* * *

Your eyes flutter open.

You're in a white bed. You can't hear anything. You have no idea where you are, or how much time has passed since-

An image of your best friend's dead body hovers in front of you, and that horrible icy feeling returns to you, in full vigor.

You slip into unconsciousness again.

* * *

That icy feeling never really goes away.

* * *

Hermione's reading. It's all she can do these days - read, study, read some more, write a stupid essay that no one ever asked her to do, and reread.

She's too quiet these days. You haven't heard her voice since before-

A lump rises in your throat and it suddenly dawns on you that _you _haven't been talking much either.

You can't really blame her. What's left to say now?

* * *

It's raining buckets during the funeral and you can't stop yourself from crying as you watch the jet black coffin slowly lower into the ground.

* * *

_Harry Potter_

_The Boy Who Lived_

_July 31, 1980-June 24, 1984_

Nothing more is written on the gravestone. They asked you, of course, if there was any fitting message to write.

There isn't. And you're pretty sure Harry wouldn't want a bloody sob story monologue on his grave.

* * *

Hermione is scheduled to say the eulogy at the funeral. You know how hard she's worked on it.

She clears her throat, blinking back tears, and you see how strong she is trying to be. Her eyes rest on her best friend's gravestone before flying to you.

Your heart flies to your throat. This is why you love her.

"Harry Potter," she begins, and there is not a single tremor in her voice. "Harry Potter was The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the youngest Seeker in Hogwart's History, and the one who gave hope to all of the Wizarding world. But, most of all, he was my first friend."

You didn't know that. You had always assumed that she had Muggle friends from before.

"As some of you may not know, I am a Muggle-born. When I was a little girl, there was nothing more that I wanted than for a wizard to come sweep me away into a world of magic. Little did I know that dream would actually come true."

A few, sparing, dry laughs pop up. You almost smile.

"My world consisted of crinkly old paperback books that shined with dust. Looking as I did back then, with big buck teeth and straggly brown hair, reading definitely did not help me find new friends."

"A letter came for me one day," she says. "And I was so excited because Hogwarts could be a new start for me. I can't say I ever saw nearly dying becoming a regular occurrence in my life, but I guess that's what I signed up for when I befriended Harry Potter."

* * *

After her eulogy is over, you both leave, her hand softly intertwined with yours as she silently cries into your shoulder on the way home.

In the evening, you both come back to lay some white lilies on his grave.

* * *

When you come home for the summer, the Burrow has never been more quiet.

But you and Hermione slowly remember to talk, spending your days out at the pond, where the lilies blow nostalgically.

* * *

Fifth year is a joke.

The Slytherins, are loud, boisterous, more than ever. The Defense Against The Dark Arts professor is a hag from the Ministry. All of the students avoid you and Hermione, afraid to say something that will set you off.

Hermione escapes by reading. You escape by spending hours on the Astronomy Tower.

* * *

"It's unhealthy to be so close to the edge."

It's a voice you can't recognize. You turn around to see Cho Chang, still as doll-faced as ever.

"It's okay. I won't bother you," she says, coming to stand next to him. "Merlin knows how many times I've been up here. It's a great place to think."

You nod, turning back to the sky, and then back to her. "It's also a great place to scream."

She stares at you, but after a moment, she sadly smiles. "But nobody's there to hear you."

Turning back to the sky, you frown, pondering on the hidden meaning behind that.

* * *

You were never the sharpest tool in the shed.

* * *

You don't notice, how she keeps leaning over, farther, farther, farther...and then she falls.

You shout, but she only falls gracefully, like an angel poised for the perfect landing.

Her smile is bittersweet.

Then she hits the ground and shatters.

* * *

How much baggage can you carry? First your best mate, and now your best mate's crush. Not to mention, you could have stopped it. You could have seen what she was doing, and held her hand and stopped her.

But you didn't.

Ronald Weasley, the boy who was always too late.

* * *

You tell yourself to stay away from the tower after that.

* * *

That only lasts for an hour; you're back right after the school announcement of her death.

Hermione is sure to follow to make sure you don't pull anything. For once she doesn't have a book with her.

"I miss him," she finally says, her hand finally finding yours. "So much."

"Yeah," you simply answer.

"He was like everyone's hope. Even though You-Know-Who was always getting closer, everyone wasn't too scared, because we had Harry Potter. But now he's gone, and now-" She gulps, choking back tears. "Now people have realized how dangerous the real world and the Dark Arts is. And now they also know they're not safe, because Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, died."

It's the most you've heard from Hermione since the funeral eulogy. You stare at her, completely uncovered and not hiding behind a front anymore, her glassy eyes blinking rapidly, and pull her into a hug.

She screams into your chest and clutches your shirt. You lean down so your tears drop into her hair.

* * *

An army can't work without its leader. Harry Potter dies, and everyone else goes down like bowling pins.

It's not the end, but it feels like it. The darkness is closing in on them, and all they can do is hold their hands and cry for their best friend.

He carried their hearts with him to his grave.

* * *

"Can you find it?"

"What?" you ask, turning to the brunette girl next to you. Wind ruffles through her hair and the stars illuminate her porcelain face.

"Can you find the strength? The bravery? The courage?" she elaborates. "Can you find yourself?"

"I don't know, Hermione-"

"Ron." She grips your arm and looks up at you with something in her eyes you haven't seen since last June. "I think it's about time that we stop this and move on with our lives. I doubt that Harry would appreciate us abandoning his cause."

You sharply inhale. Harry's name still makes you feel sore all over, reliving the moment of his body dropping at the entrance of the maze.

But she is right.

"Let's continue what we started," you say, and your muscles move into a small smile.

"It's about time," she whispers, and your lips meet softly under the glow of the moon.

Your mouths move to the rhythm of your hearts, and now you feel so _alive._

"For Harry," she mouths into your kiss, and you agree.

It's time for an adventure.

* * *

A/N: Not too sure about this...

_Done for:_

_Quidditch Competition Round 9: What would happen if Harry had died at the end of GoF? (Prompts: A Wish by Gregory and The Hawk, S/he's too quiet these days., and uncovered.)_


End file.
